The Stuff of Dreams
by FANtom of the Opera
Summary: **Champion Spoilers!** June and Day have been through it all. Now, as June struggles to pick up the pieces and help Day find himself again, she realizes that some things are worth sticking around for.


**(A/N: This is sort of an ideal-future one-shot that would take place after the end of **_**Champion. **_**So, naturally, **_**Champion **_**spoilers! Hope you enjoy!)**

"Do you have everything?" June balanced two takeout boxes in her hands as she scrambled for the doorknob.

Day nodded, his face an inch from hers, the intimacy of their _being_ making her heart race. "Of course. Shall we?"

June smiled at him warmly. They weren't seventeen anymore—they never would be again—but just this once, they could pretend like they were. She still held her memories of him close to her chest and thought of them just before she slept—the way her head used to fit so perfectly into the crook of his neck, the way they resolved to take the world by storm together ('You live in the moment, you die in the moment,' he told her once, 'You take it all one day at a time.') and still have time for everything that was _them._

Now, so much had changed. June immersed herself in everything that remained June and Day, but it was different. Day wasn't whole. He didn't remember everything she did, which was good and bad. The tenderness in his eyes made her cringe as she remembered the tears falling from them when he'd visited his house again. All had she thought about then was that it was her fault—that she had catapulted herself into his life, torn it apart by its roots, and left nearly nothing in its wake.

Day was falling in love with her again—this much she could tell. And she wasn't holding back anymore. She had her demons, and so did he. Love was working through those things. It was letting their union surpass the pain and suffering and hurt that they'd both been through.

It was letting Day catch her when she fell, and doing the same for him any time.

Forever.

"Okay," she said. "Go!"

Her fingers tightened on the handle of the door and thrust it open, hurtling them both into her apartment. Both of them bolted for the kitchen table, setting the steaming food on it. "I win," Day informed her, a smile flickering on his lips. "That means I get first pick."

Ten minutes later found June and Day bent over the kitchen table with half-full Styrofoam boxes of veggie fried rice and drunken noodles. Day had won the noodles as payment for setting his boxes on the table first, but June didn't hesitate to take swipes from it at every possible opportunity.

After finishing up dinner, they made their way to the couch. They sat in silence for a moment, but it was a silence filled with words left unsaid and opportunities waiting to be taken.

Finally, Day broke it. "You know, June, I'm trying."

She jerked her head up. "What?"

His hand reached for hers, and she took it. "I'm remembering things, June." When he said it, his eyes shone with enough hope to make her heart ache. "I'm starting to remember you. Pieces of my life—they're coming back. And I know you're part of so many of them. You're everywhere, June. I see you in my dreams, I see you when I walk these streets—that's when I realize just how much I'm missing."

June shrugged. "Yeah. I know."

"Yeah. I know you know. And I just… is this working? Because I'm trying, June. I'm trying so hard. And all I want to know is if you want me—however screwed up and broken I am. Though that's relative. In my opinion, I'm quite desirable."

She smiled again, and this time found the courage to nestle into her spot in between his neck and his shoulder. He smelt like vanilla and the stuff of dreams—the stuff of dreams like Day finding her again, of them mending each other.

"Day… Let me tell you a story." She felt him weave his fingers into her hair and sighed. This was it.

"There once was a boy, a girl, and a country crumbling to the ground."

Day didn't move an inch as she continued her story. She told him of everything that _she _remembered—everything that she held so close to her heart.

"The boy was the country's, and the girl was the government's. She was the Republic's star, and was trained to become their top military sergeant. The boy… he did everything she didn't. He spoke for the people. He defied the laws of existence. He stole. He burned. He ravaged. But he was adored."

June's eyes burned as she remembered the night she'd spent with Day, and the way that first kiss had felt. She had melted into his embrace, letting his touch warm and complete her. But then.

The pounding in her heart when she'd seen the necklace—_his _necklace—had shattered the illusion. Everything in her had grown cold. _He was Day. Her enemy. Day, who killed Metias. _But was he? In that moment, she had met Day, the person, stripped from all of his notoriety and crime and reputation. And Day, the person, was beautiful.

"Then, the boy and the girl escaped together. They left everything behind them—their crumbling society, their names on every Wanted poster in the Republic. The girl, once the Republic's most exciting project, had become their most wanted villain. But she didn't mind. Not anymore.

"They left the Republic. They found the Colonies. They had heard great things about it—_monumental _things—but it was just as devastating as the Republic. The boy and girl learned that day, Day—" June laughed harshly at that. "—they learned that each bit of the world is just as unstable as the next. Our world is made up of fault lines waiting to crack. It's only a matter of time.

"But things got better. The Elector of the Republic wanted change just as much as they did. And change came. For a time, there was peace."

June took a deep breath, and then told him the final chapter of their story. Her voice shook as she spoke of the malignant plague spreading through the Republic like a wildfire, of the Colonies prying dark, oily fingers into the Republic and talking to Day and taking over.

Of tempting complete and total destruction.

"Things got better, Day. We found the cure. I… I was the cure. And everything… was fine…"

Her voice trembling violently, June continued. Her heart clenched in her throat, her voice hoarse, she finished the story with their happy ending. Commander Jameson on the roof—Day, dying in the street.

June, making a promise.

The words were inked onto her heart, even now: _I am willing to sacrifice anything to make this happen. _At the time, all she'd felt was a raging need for Day to live—not just for herself, but for the Republic. They needed him just as much as she did. And now, thinking back, she knew that she wouldn't have had it any other way. This Day was different, but he was still hers. He was still the Republic's.

And she still needed him just the same.

She broke off, stumbling on the word _amnesia. _"I can't… No more," she croaked, both distraught and furious with herself. She had been the Republic's unflinching prodigy, who knew all the critical points to strike at in the human body (in her defense, she did still know that) and performed her duties without blinking. Without questioning. The June who received a perfect score on her Trial, and was prepared to ride that wave for the rest of her life.

What had happened between those two points? _I met Day, _she wanted to say, but she knew that wasn't all. The change that had taken place was more than Day. It was in herself, as well. She was more than just Day's protégé, or even the Republic's.

And looking back, she didn't regret it one bit.

Day shook her shoulder lightly. "I'm assuming that story was about Tess and Anden."

June smiled. "Yeah. Their story is pretty tragic."

"Catastrophically so. How do they even survive?"

"They have each other. That just might be enough."

Day smiled and wrapped his finger around a strand of her hair. "You listen to me, and you listen to me well, June Iparis. I know I might not be enough right now. I know looking at me is painful. I see it in your eyes. I'm not sure if you were before, but you're terrible at hiding your emotions now. Republic's prodigy—huh." He swatted her lightly before continuing. "And I feel it too. I feel the pain. I look at you, and I see so much beauty and wonder and smarts, and I think _why me? _Why did I have to forget someone who seems unforgettable? But I'll be damned, June, because I have never wanted to do anything more in my life than I do right now."

His fingers brushed across her lips gently. "So my question for you is, are you willing to put up with me?"

June's lips found his in the dark and they found each other.

"Your breath smells like noodles," June murmured.

"Wonder why," Day mumbled back, and kissed her harder.

"Jeez, if our love story is complicated, imagine what Tess and Anden must be dealing with," June whispered.

"Oh, god," he said. "Let's pray for Tess and Anden."

Thirty five minutes later, when the sun had all but vanished from the flat's window and June's eyes were slipping closed, Day asked another question.

"Hey, June… This is probably really awkward, but I had this question, and I, uh, just wanted to know…"

"Mmm?" She mumbled, her head buried deep in his shoulder.

"So… exactly how serious was the nature of our relationship?"

"Unnhh?"

"Like, you know, did we kiss, or did we hug, or did we, like, do stuff that was, like, you know…"

June felt around for his hand on the couch with closed eyes. Finally, she found it, and slid hers into it. "Once. Um. Good night." Her exhaustion slurred her speech, but her message was clear enough.

Day laughed. "Okay. Good night, June Iparis. I would dramatically carry you to your bed, but we're not seventeen anymore, so I can't do that. But I _can_ get you a blanket, if that's socially acceptable."

"Uhh."

"I'm taking that as an assertive yes. Just one minute." As Day lightly set June's head on the couch and rose from the couch, he looked down at her face, her features smoothed out, and realized that this was all he ever wanted.

Even if he couldn't remember it.

Because the hot, burning love for June that surged through his veins was something he could never forget.

**I honestly don't know how good this is – But. You know.**

**Constructive criticism is appreciated. Thank you for reading. **


End file.
